


Our Star Won't Fade

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: Shake the Ground [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe- GTA V, Fake AH Crew, Gen, M/M, Pre-Fake AH Crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 09:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12129582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: The first time they meet, Ryan doesn't think much of Gavin.





	Our Star Won't Fade

A stick-thin kid with shaggy hair makes the mistake of trying to pickpocket Ryan when his skills clearly haven't caught up to his ambition one afternoon. 

To the kid's credit, he's a better pickpocket than most of the thieves and worse walking the streets of Los Santos Ryan's seen. Just his luck that he happened on someone like Ryan instead of a hapless tourist or some other poor bastard making their way through the city.

Ryan raises an eyebrow at the startled squawk the kid lets out when he grabs his wrist. The affronted look he gets like the kid can't believe the nerve of Ryan for catching him in the act. 

“Hey,” Ryan says, mild. Hint of a threat starting to roll up when the kid tugs his wrist back experimentally.

And this _kid_. This stick-thin kid with shaggy hair and a ridiculous accent scowls at Ryan. 

Says, like Ryan's the one in the wrong here, “Mind letting me go?”

Ryan blinks. 

Does he mind letting the punk trying to steal his hard-earned money go? _Does he?_

Yes. 

Yes he does.

But here's the thing, Ryan isn't wearing his mask. Isn't _working_ right now. Was just out running a few errands, one more face in the crowd going about his daily business when some kid decided he looked like a nice, ripe target.

Ryan tightens his grip, and smiles. Lets a little of the Vagabond out to play as he pulls the kid in close, mindful of the people around them. Waits until the kid realizes Ryan isn't one of his usual marks and sees his eyes widen, something like fear in them.

“Next time,” Ryan says, “I won't be so nice.”

The kid makes this little noise in the back of his throat. Jerks free of Ryan's grip, backing away until he bumps into someone behind him and that seems to jolt him out of the daze he's in as he turns and _bolts_.

Ryan watches him until he loses him in the lunchtime rush of Los Santos and goes back about his business thinking nothing of it. Just another kid in over his head in this city, nothing special about that here.

Nothing at all.

========

Not even a week later and Ryan stumbles into a little situation. 

He's out running errands again as a mild-mannered, law-abiding citizen of Los Santos and hears sounds coming from an alley he's walking past.

Noises he's all too familiar with in his line of work. 

Fist striking flesh, that little rush of air when someone gets the breath knocked out of them, the grunt of pain that almost always follows.

This is Los Santos, a place where things like that aren't a rare occurrence. Where the average citizen will hear them, notice them, and scurry on past praying to whatever higher being they may believe in that it won't be them in that dark alley some day.

Ryan's far from being an average citizen of Los Santos, and there's been a restlessness to him the last few days. A job that didn't go wrong so much as it ended unsatisfactorily, left him with this energy running through him and no outlet for it.

Ryan hesitates, eyes narrowing as he hears a voice, faint. Something defiant to it that pulls him a step closer to the mouth of the alley. Has him glancing around to see if anyone passing by has taken notice, and smiles grimly to himself when he gets his answer.

Sees all the honest, law-abiding citizens and the way they pick up speed when they hear another hit land. This pained noise that makes Ryan's fingers twitch as he sees the way their expressions tighten, but not one of them - not a damned one - moves to help, and that's what makes the decision for Ryan.

Has Ryan dropping the mild-mannered, wouldn't hurt a fly act as he moves into the alley for something that feels a little closer to home.

By the time he reaches the source of the sounds, it's the Vagabond the two street thugs look up at. Wary, but enough bite to them that the one with blood on his fists takes a step forward. Letting his jacket pull away just enough for Ryan to get a glimpse at the piece he's carrying.

Nothing impressive there, just some cheap little thing he probably picked up off the streets somewhere. More likely to blow up in his face than take someone down, and Ryan _grins_.

Eyes flicking to the thug holding some poor bastard up for his buddy to hit, and there's something in it that gets at Ryan. Brings back memories of a time before Los Santos, before the Vagabond was a concept in the back reaches of his mind. When things weren't so much simpler as they were a little less soaked in blood.

“Really?” Ryan asks, looking down at the groaning figure. Stick-thin with shaggy hair hanging down in his face, blood dripping from what Ryan's guessing is a broken nose. “Didn't you get enough of this in school?”

The kid, the same cocky little shit who tried to pickpocket him before looks up at him and makes a face. 

Says, like he's not all beaten to hell, “I'll have you know I was never bullied in school, you prick.”

The words are hard to make out between the ridiculous accent and the split lip and God knows what else is going on, but there's a spark in the kid's eye.

“Right,” Ryan says, drawing the word out as he looks to the thugs again. Sees the confusion on their faces, wariness starting to filter through, because Ryan?

He's a big guy. 

Today he's not the Vagabond, isn't wearing the mask or the face paint, but those things aren't what make the Vagabond what he is. They just make it easier for idiots like these two to recognize him. 

The one with the blood on his fists sneers, hand dropping towards his gun. Ryan tilts his head, gives him a little smile. 

“Do it. _Please_.”

The guy stops, takes a step back. “The fuck, man?”

Because Ryan's just standing there. Shoulders loose, hands down by his side and still _smiling_. 

“No?” Ryan asks, and he doesn't intend to crack his knuckles because there's being suitably dramatic and then there's being trite and cliché. But these morons seem the kind to appreciate that kind of thing, so he goes ahead and cracks his knuckles for that extra flair. “That's too bad.”

And these guys, petty little thugs, they're simple. Easy to manipulate. The one with blood on his fist makes the mistake of charging Ryan, yelling like he thinks he's in a movie as Ryan moves to meet him.

The thug's young and stupid and woefully untrained. Just a big guy used to throwing his weight around and coming out on top. 

Too dumb to know that only gets you so far in a city like Los Santos. That there's always going to be someone bigger, better than you out there so you either push yourself harder, or you go down like a punk. End up on the ground groaning around a mouthful of broken teeth and choking on your own blood.

“I'm feeling charitable today,” Ryan says, eyes lifting to the other thug still holding on to the kid. “If you two geniuses clear out now, you get to live.”

There's a moment where Ryan thinks the thug has some spine, is going to ignore Ryan's offer. Just drop the kid and make a try at him, but when the mess at Ryan's feet lets out this pitiful noise the thug breaks. Lets the kid go and scoops his buddy off the ground and hightails it out of the alley without looking back.

Ryan sighs, and turns to look at the kid. Bloodied up a bit, but he doesn't seem to be too badly injured. Goes so very still when he realizes Ryan's watching him.

“You really need to learn to pick your targets better,” Ryan says. “Or be less shitty at picking someone's pocket.”

Or both. 

Both would be good if the kid plans on staying in his line of work, but hey. That's not really Ryan's problem now is it.

“It's just a run of bad luck, isn't it?,” the kid says, and turns his head to spit out a mouthful of blood. “I do alright for myself.”

Well, it's not like the kid could do much worse than this short of getting himself killed, really.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Ryan says, turning to leave. “Hope it makes you feel better about things next time you find yourself in a situation like this.”

Ryan makes it a few feet down the alley before he hears a faint shuffle-scrape-drag behind him accompanied by these pained little noises, and _sighs_.

When he looks over his shoulder he sees the kid making slow progress towards the mouth of the alley. Curled down around his ribs and blood smeared down his face. Footsteps unsteady and that nose of his definitely looks broken, but the kid's still moving under his own power. 

Putting one foot in front of the other with a frown of concentration on his face, and Ryan - 

“Tell me you have a place somewhere,” Ryan says.

The kid stops, leaning hard against the alley wall as he eyes Ryan. Wary, eyes flicking down to Ryan's hands and the blood on his knuckles and back up to his face.

“I don't think that would be a smart decision on my part.”

Ordinarily he'd be right, but Ryan wasn't lying earlier. He's feeling oddly charitable right now, enough so that he's even thinking of helping the kid out a little more than he already has because he appreciates his spirit. 

Nostalgia, maybe, remembering his early days here in Los Santos. The steep learning curve this city has to it.

“You're not wrong,” Ryan says, “but I honestly doubt you're going to make it very far with the state you're in at the moment, so. Your choice.”

========

The kid lives in a rundown dump a few streets over. Boarded up windows and a door that hangs slightly off its hinges. Peeling paint on the walls and horrifically patterned wallpaper. 

“Sweet digs,” Ryan says, and grins at the scowl the kid gives him for it. “Real homey.”

“Sod off,” the kid says, prodding his nose gingerly.

“You're gonna make it worse, you keep poking at it like that,” Ryan says, taking a seat across from the kid on a rickety little coffee table.

The kid watches him, some kind of internal debate going on in that head of his before he sighs. Tilts his his head up, eyebrows lifted, like he's wondering what the holdup is on Ryan's end of things. 

Ryan raises an eyebrow, but the kid just looks at him, and _this kid_. He's stupid for one thing. Doesn't know a goddamn thing about Ryan and he's still putting an incredible amount of trust in him with this. And for another thing - 

“This is going to hurt,” Ryan says, “just so you know.”

Ryan's nose has been broken a time or two in the past, he knows the kind of pain the kid's in for here. That no matter how prepared he thinks he is, he's wrong. 

The kid rolls his eyes, little grimace passing over his face and flaps a hand at Ryan.

“Not like I can afford to go to the emergency room with the way you Americans have your healthcare setup, now can I?”

There are undoubtedly other factors in there. Things like this kid being a pickpocket, probably worse because that happens in a city like this. Takes someone and ruins them if they're not careful, but Ryan doesn't rise to the bait. 

“All right then,” Ryan says.

He raises his hands, carefully watching the kid as he reaches out to place his thumbs on either side of the bridge of his nose. Sees the way the kid's eyes widen slightly, the way he holds himself very, very still.

“Good?”

The kid squeaks out a faint acknowledgment, hands clenched into fists on his lap in anticipation of what's coming. 

When Ryan's sure he's not about to do something stupid, jerk out of Ryan's light hold or flail or God knows what, he goes about realigning his nose. The kid manages to hold himself still through all of it somehow. Eyes watering by the end, and Ryan's reluctantly impressed.

When it's done, Ryan hands the kid a ratty towel he found in the closet-sized bathroom. Watches him press it against his bleeding nose as he hunches in on himself.

Ryan shrugs as he gets up to wash his hands. Doesn't point out that the kid could have avoided this if he'd been smarter about picking targets because that's a little too close to an 'I told you so'. Figures the kid doesn't need that on top of everything else at the moment, but -

“Could have been worse,” he says, because he's an asshole and the kid really is lucky if a broken nose is the worst he came away with in a situation like that.

========

Honestly, Ryan thought that would be the last of it. That he wouldn't see the kid anymore after that day, but he's wrong.

Amazingly, astoundingly wrong, because the kid - 

Ryan wouldn't call it stalking, exactly, just.

The kid's _around_. 

Never goes so far as to walk up to Ryan and start up a conversation like an actual human being, no. Just creeps around, and Ryan catches little glimpses of him from the corner of his eye all the damn time.

It's entirely possible Ryan could be imagining things. That his mind is playing tricks on him because when he turns to look head-on at the scrawny figure with the truly ridiculous hair it turns into some pretentious hispter. An actual homeless person and not just a kid who looks like one. Something other than what he's expecting to see and it's starting to annoy him. 

Gets progressively worse when it starts to follow him on jobs. When there's no one else around and Ryan's staring down at his handiwork with something cold and hard in his chest because this was never where he'd imagined he'd be at this point in his life, and yet here he is. 

And then there will be the scuff of feet or some other noise that shouldn't be there, and when Ryan looks he sees the back of a worn hoodie and a shock of wild hair. A battered sneaker disappearing over the lip of a roof high above him. 

Ryan should probably be more concerned about it, really. Be thinking about potential evidence and blackmail and all the ways this could fuck him over if the kid ever gets it in his head to do something about it, but he doesn't. 

Just lets the kid do whatever it is he thinks he's doing and goes about his business. 

Idly wonders what the kid must be thinking when Ryan ducks into the corner grocery store and comes back out with his bag of groceries and a little bundle of flowers poking out of one of the bags. If he knows the owner's marigolds are blooming and she insists on giving them away to her favorite customers no matter how politely Ryan tries to turn her down. 

What he thinks about the band of strays that follow Ryan around like ducklings when he's down working on his bike, loud and demanding and utterly unafraid of him. The kids he keeps an eye on while he's working down there, their parents upstairs seeing to dinner or grabbing a quick nap before heading off to work.

Ryan should be more worried about someone finding out about this part of his life. The side that has nothing to do with his line of work, but there are times he'll come home and find the strays batting around a new toy. Something Ryan knows he didn't give them, that his neighbors wouldn't because they don't have the money to spare. Will go down to work on his bike and see the kids kicking around a new ball or drawing a spectacular bit of art on the sidewalk with fresh chalk. 

It's clearly a mistake on his part when he comes back from a job one night and finds little spatters of blood in the hallway leading to his apartment. Sees a smeared handprint on the wall next to his door like someone had leaned up against it for a moment, blood pooling on the cracked tiles. Finds blood on the doorknob and the door itself standing open a few inches, lock picks dropped carelessly on the floor just inside his apartment.

“For fuck's sake,” Ryan says, gun in hand as he clears each room he comes to following the trail of blood because you never know in Los Santos, something annoyingly like worry building in him. “Where the hell are you, you little shit?”

Ryan turns the corner into the hallway leading deeper into his apartment and sees the kid leaning against the wall. Still alive even though he looks like he shouldn't be, and he opens his eyes when Ryan flips on the lights.

“Hope you don't mind that I let myself in,” the kid says, blood on his teeth as he grins up at Ryan. Waves a hand around at the bare walls and utilitarian furniture just visible in the living room because hell if Ryan knows what to do with any of it. “I love what you've done with the place.”

========

The kid's a mess. 

Fractured ribs and that nose of his seems to be too tempting of a target to pass up because that's been broken again too. He's managed to fuck up his leg pretty badly, a long, deep gash that seems to have been the primary source for all the blood.

“Got caught on a wire fence,” the kid says as he watches Ryan stitching it up, and doesn't volunteer anything else.

Close-lipped and almost defiant about it, like he expects Ryan to pry into his business. To demand answers that don't belong to him as though he has any right to them.

When he realizes Ryan isn't asking questions, isn't sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, the kid relents a little. Tosses out vague little bits of information instead.

The broken nose? Bit of a brawl. 

That fingernail? Idiot managed to rip it off when he was climbing the side of a building, as you do. 

The ribs? Tumbling off the side of that same building even though there's a very clear imprint of someone's ring on his side.

And on and on and on and Ryan gets it, he does.

You don't want other people knowing your business here in Los Santos. Don't want to give them something to use against you later, give them a leg up on you somehow.

But this kid.

He's been following Ryan around for months now.

Followed him _home_ , got a good look at the life he has when he's not wearing the mask or the face paint. Just some normal guy living in a part of town somewhere between the dump the kid lives in and where the average suburban family calls home.

Not quite crime-ridden, but if you go a few streets down you'll be knee-deep in just about every kind of illicit activity taking place in Los Santos or can find someone who'll point the way for you.

He's seen the neighbors Ryan hasn't made quite made nice with so much as has he's arrived at an arrangement with. 

People who knows he tends to get a little territorial. That even if they don't know what he does for a living, he's clearly not someone other people tend to mess with. That it's safe letting their kids out to play because they know he's got a soft spot for them, will keep an eye out if he's downstairs working on his bike. 

All this time, and the kid hasn't gone running to the Vagabond's enemies. People who'd pay top dollar for even a fraction of what the kid knows - are incredibly vocal about wanting it - and none of them have come knocking.

“You're going to be out of commission for a while,” Ryan says, as he cleans up. “Are you going to be able to make it up the stairs to that dump of yours?”

The kid stops poking at his nose and says – very clearly – like it hadn't occurred to him yet, “ _Shit_.”

========

Ryan takes pity on the kid and lets him stay with him for a few days.

“Three,” Ryan says, firm and unyielding. “ _Three_.”

The kid rolls his eyes and mutters some form of agreement that Ryan doesn't buy for a single moment, but he looks like shit so Ryan lets it be.

Figures three days is more than enough time for the kid to get his shit together, find a way to hobble up the stairs to his own place.

========

The only problem is, three days turns into a week, into two, and after that Ryan stops counting. 

Realizes there's no point to it anymore when his neighbors have started to greet the kid, _Gavin_ , by name when he limps downstairs to play with the strays. When the kids crowd around him and pull him over to admire whatever masterpiece they've created this time, or to referee a game of kickball or two.

When Ryan comes home one day to find him piecing together a computer in his living room. The hollowed out shell of a laptop he's poking at and a sickeningly sweet smile on his face when Ryan _looks_ at him.

Takes a good look at this kid who's gotten all nice and comfortable in Ryan's space. Cleared off a shelf for himself in Ryan's fridge and is working on taking over one of the cabinets Ryan stores canned goods in. Had gone back to his crappy little apartment and brought back what few belongings he had and disappeared in the room he'd claimed for himself for the rest of the day a while back.

It's a turning point, this. 

Last chance for Ryan to boot him out of his apartment - get rid of the little pest - so of course Ryan's just stupid enough to let it slip by.

“You bring the cops down on us, I'm leaving you to them,” Ryan says, and Gavin rolls his eyes.

Like he doesn't think Ryan would do such a thing even though he doesn't know the first thing about Ryan.

“You say that now,” Gavin says, distracted as he frowns at his work. “But if it actually happens, I don't think you would.”

Ryan looks over at Gavin who's tucked a screwdriver in his mouth as he fishes around for the tiny screws he keeps dropping. The bruises have faded to a pale, sickly yellow, and his ribs and his leg are healing up nicely. 

He's less annoying when he's not trying to pickpocket Ryan or bleeding all over his things. Leaving a bloody trail wherever he goes like something out of a slasher flick. Clever little bastard with a quick mind and every so often he'll get lucky and say something funny.

Not the worst person to have squatting in his apartment, really.

“I might,” Ryan says, putting a little threat in it, but Gavin doesn't react at hearing the Vagabond's voice. 

No, Gavin just keeps working like Ryan hadn't said anything at all.

And that - 

It's typical for Gavin, now.

Wary and just a tad bit skittish when they'd first met all those months ago, Gavin an absolute idiot for trying to pickpocket Ryan. 

Somewhere along the way he'd lost that wariness, that skittishness, as he'd started to stalk Ryan (and no bones about it, that's what it had been, even if Gavin tries to play it off as something else) until they've gotten to here.

Gavin seeking Ryan out after a job had gone wrong. Battered and bloody and making his way across half the city to break into Ryan's apartment instead of going back to his own place. Finding someone, anyone, who didn't kill people for a living. Who could have patched him up just as easily as Ryan had or taken him to someone who could, but no. 

He'd come _here_ , and now there's no real fear to him at all when it comes to Ryan, because he's very clearly an idiot.

========

Ryan doesn't know what Gavin gets up to when he starts leaving the apartment at all hours. Knows better than to ask, although he does feel something worryingly like concern when Gavin slips back in with a black eye here, a split lip there.

There are a few occasions where he can't patch himself up and tries to hide it. As though Ryan could possibly miss the little spatters and smears of blood he leaves behind. Hurt, more worried about trying not to bleed out to even to even consider cleaning up after himself. 

“You keep up like this,” Ryan says, setting his first-aide kit down beside Gavin, “I'm going to start charging you for treatment.”

Gavin hums, head turned away as Ryan starts to stitch him up. “It's not like I plan on getting hurt,” he says, something petulant to it. 

Ryan sighs, shoving a little spark of anger down because maybe not, but he's seen enough to know Gavin's given to recklessness. Must be, to have ended up here.

“Well then,” Ryan says. “As long as you don't _plan_ to, that's just fine.”

========

Ryan manages to startle Gavin a few weeks later.

Comes in from a job that took him out of town for a few days, tired, aching. Forgets that for all intents and purposes he has a roommate now, and that's a mistake. 

The kind that finds Ryan being shoved up against the wall of his apartment with a knife pressed against his throat before he can react. 

For once in his life, that's a good thing.

A _very_ good thing, Ryan realizes when he manages to get a good look at his attacker. 

Slim build and a shock of wild hair.

“Gavin?”

It's like a switch being flipped. The cold, hard-eyed look in Gavin's eyes melting away to shock and something like fear as he realizes who he has at knifepoint. 

“Shit,” he says, staring at Ryan. “Ryan - _shit_. I - “

Shaken is not the best term for what Gavin is at that moment, faint tremor in his hand as he lowers the knife to his side, eyes raking over Ryan before he backs away. Starts babbling apologies and avoiding Ryan's eyes.

Deflecting, distracting as he curls back down into the familiar sight of the bumbling idiot who's carved out a space for himself in Ryan's life somehow. Annoying and oddly endearing and no real threat at all, honestly.

Ryan watches him for a long moment.

He's _tired_ , hurts and aches making themselves known after a rough job and Gavin's still babbling. Has shifted away from apologizing into something about an apartment he's looking at. Somewhere he can move in a day or two, if Ryan will give him the time. He never meant to stay this long, really, Ryan. 

Gavin's tapping the knife against his leg, nervous little gesture that catches Ryan's attention long enough to realize it's one of _his_ knives Gavin's holding. 

One he thought he'd lost on a job weeks back that hadn't gone to plan, had devolved into a chaotic mess with Ryan scrambling to stay alive. Making his way back to the apartment and talking Gavin through stitching him up for a change. Gavin looking like he'd rather be doing anything else but gamely holding on long enough to tie off the last stitch before rushing off to the bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach.

Gavin must have gotten his stupid, sticky fingers on it somehow, held on to it all this time.

“You're holding it wrong,” Ryan says, before Gavin can turn tail and run.

There's a pause, seconds ticking past, and then Ryan's words seem to register.

“What?”

Ryan reaches out, eyes locked with Gavin's as he takes the hand holding the knife and repositions his grip on it.

“You pull that move again, you're going to want to hold it like this, or it won't do you any good.”

Ryan could have, _should have_ disarmed him the moment Gavin got him up against the wall, but he was stupid enough to let his guard down. Mind dulled by exhaustion and thinking he was safe just because he was home, and Gavin got the drop on him. 

Gavin's eyes are wide, obviously not expecting this kind of reaction from Ryan, and Ryan raises an eyebrow.

“You have decent reflexes,” Ryan says, not wanting to give him too much of an ego boost because this is Gavin he's dealing with after all. “But your form is deplorable.”

“ _What_?”

And that's better. 

It's Gavin indignant and offended, and Ryan smiles as Gavin straightens up. Loses that bit of slouch he tends to fall into, making himself small and harmless looking. Pushing back instead of withdrawing, that fear Ryan had seen in his eyes nowhere to be found now.

========

Ryan's not quite to the point where he can be picky and choosy about the jobs he takes, but he's getting there. 

People recognize the mask. Have figured out that the Vagabond isn't someone you want to cross, but there are still some out there willing to take that chance. Who think the stories starting to circulate through Los Santos have been exaggerated, blown out of proportion. 

That when it comes down to it the Vagabond's simply mortal like the rest of them, and it's so very easy to handle someone when they prove to be a problem.

And this latest job, well. Ryan's had a bad feeling about it from the beginning.

Mueller's a shifty bastard, even for Los Santos. Always has a plan in mind, some twisted thing looking to net him more money, leverage, whatever will give him more power.

He's someone Ryan can't afford to make an enemy of just yet. Powerful enough to present a problem to someone like him, but low enough in the hierarchy of Los Santos that he can get away with things he shouldn't.

Things like hiring the Vagabond to clear out a small crew with territory Mueller decides he likes the look of. A crew that seemed like they'd be trouble in the future, the kind Los Santos didn't need more of. (One Ryan might have gone after himself, given time.)

So Ryan said yes, but he also made a little mental note to himself - _don't forget this_ \- and tucked it away with the others along the same line. Almost like an IOU, saving them up for a day when he would be able to pick and choose. Have the kind of reputation that would allow him to repay past employers for the any slights, disrespect thrown his way.

It isn't until the job's done and Ryan's standing over the bodies when he realizes he won't have to wait on that one after all. 

Mueller pulls up in a ridiculous SUV. Steps out with his crew following suit, loud and obnoxious. The kind of people who think bad things only happen to other people. (Who think _they're_ the bad things, and have no idea how wrong they are.)

There's something off about Mueller as he approaches. Voice oily and grating as always as he greets Ryan, his men fanning out behind him. 

“Vagabond,” Mueller says, wide grin on his face.

Ryan tips his head to the side.

Mueller grins like Ryan's response was everything he could have hoped for and more. 

Claps his hands together as he spins to look at his former rivals. He's _delighted_ , and it sets Ryan's nerves on edge. Has him eyeing the area around them, a quiet little corner by the docks. 

Abandoned warehouses slowly falling apart from neglect and disuse. Rusted out cars rotting away while weeds grow up through the cracked asphalt of forgotten parking spaces.

It's a decent place for a small crew to set up shop, and an even better place for an ambush. (A double-cross.)

“My, my,” Mueller says as he leans down to inspect one of the bodies. “You _do_ do good work, don't you?” 

When Ryan doesn't say anything, Mueller looks up and smiles. Slow stretch of his lips over crooked teeth, bit of gold peeking out at him from that fake tooth he has.

“It's a shame, really,” Mueller says, and Ryan bites back a sigh because he knows what's coming. 

He can see it in the way Mueller's men are all too clearly waiting for a sign from their boss. The nervousness Mueller is trying so hard to mask with this little charade of his.

“You're making a mistake,” Ryan says, the only warning he's going to give.

More than Mueller deserves, but it's been a long night and Ryan's not looking forward to having to deal with the man and his ambitions. The idiocy he's capable of in the pursuit of power.

As usual, Mueller proves himself to be the same idiot he's always been. Ambitious and greedy and amazingly stupid when it comes down to it. He either ignores Ryan's warning or doesn't hear it at all.

Ryan's arm snaps up and Mueller goes down bloody. Bullet through his eye and dead before he knows it as Ryan ducks behind cover.

Mueller's crew respond with impressive speed. Furious and yelling for blood as they return fire.

They're young, though. Inexperienced and used to having the upper hand, for Mueller barking out orders and directing their actions in a fight. Confused, panic setting in as they realize they're on their own in this. 

Ryan takes advantage of that, leans around the side of the overturned shipping container he's using as cover to take one of them down. Spray of blood and a choked off scream and he pulls back as they retaliate, bullets pinging off metal.

Ryan does the best he can to pick Mueller's crew off, but he's outnumbered and used most of the ammunition he brought with him for the job Mueller hired him for. He has a magazine and a handful of throwing knives on hand, and a little bit more in the trunk of the car he appropriated for the night if he could make get to it before one of the Mueller's men cut him down.

The thing of it is, there's a very real chance he could hold out for a while with what he has left. Take his time and whittle their numbers down, but Mueller's men are getting impatient, desperate.

Hoping one of them can kill him so the rest can run, go to ground or find some other crew that will take them in.

One of them makes a suicide run at Ryan that earns him a bullet to the chest. A smart one rears up out of cover and brings his weapon to bear on Ryan who can't move fast enough - 

The flat crack of a rifle splits the air, and the man goes down with a bullet between his eyes. 

Ryan reaches cover as another shot sounds. He scans the area around him until he sees a slim figure with a sniper rifle slung over their back running low along a roof. Repositioning before Mueller's men get their bearings and manage to pinpoint their location.

Ryan watches as they skid to a stop by a vent exhaust, pulling the sniper rifle off their shoulder to track Mueller's men down below.

There are only a handful left by now, and between the two of them they make short work of it. 

Ryan has to to draw the last one out of hiding. Smart enough or maybe just scared enough to stay tucked into little corner where neither Ryan or the sniper can get a good angle on him. 

Ryan looks up at the sniper. Barely visible in the darkness, and he takes a deep breath as he steps away from cover. Slowly starts walking towards the mound of debris Mueller's man is hiding behind, and it's the sound that must do it. 

The slow, steady crunch of dirt and gravel under Ryan's boots that has the poor bastard jumping out of his hiding spot. Eyes wide with terror and fear as he fires wildly, shots going wide. 

Ryan's out of bullets, but he reaches for one of this throwing knives as the sniper fires. Aim true as the man's head snaps back and he falls.

Silence hangs in the air for a long moment after that, and then the sniper moves. Gets to their feet and makes their way to an access ladder.

Ryan follows their movement. Watches them drop lightly to their feet and step into the light cast from a nearby lamppost, sees them grin up at him. 

Ryan stares at the sniper, eyes ticking to the sniper rifle slung on their back once again. Remembers the easy confidence and skill they'd exhibited with it up on the roof.

Miles away from their usual behavior, and Ryan's eyes narrow.

“Is that my sniper rifle?”

Gavin's grin falters for a moment before coming back even stronger than before when he realizes Ryan isn't angry. (A little annoyed, maybe. A knife is one thing, but _this_.)

“Well,” Gavin says, scratching at the beginnings of a beard he has going on. “Not like you were using it at the moment, yeah?”

========

Ryan decides it would be a smart idea to lie low for the next couple of weeks. Let Los Santos sort out the minor power vacuum Mueller's death left behind.

Gavin acts like nothing's changed, as though Ryan hasn't seen him behind a sniper rifle. Calm and collected as he lined up his shots, working seamlessly with Ryan to take out Mueller's crew. 

He gets this wistful smile on his face when Ryan asks where he learned to shoot like that. Where he learned the necessary discipline. 

Gavin smiles and leans back in the folding chair he dragged up to the roof of Ryan's building, picking at the label on his beer.

“I had a friend back in England,” Gavin says, the closest he ever comes to explaining even a little bit about himself. “His grandparents lived close to some farmers, and they had guns to deal with pests and the like.”

Ryan stares at Gavin, who looks back serenely. Has to know how incredibly unhelpful he's being and just as obviously doesn't give a damn.

And then Gavin smirks like the troll he is and takes a dainty little sip of his beer, pinky out. 

Points at the sun about to set, colors starting to bleed together.

“Ryan, shhh, Ryan” he whispers, like he's never taken the time to watch the sun set. “It's starting.”

Ryan scowls at him, at this annoying little prick who delights in annoying him to no end. 

Gavin has that smug little smile on his face Ryan is so very familiar with, but it softens as he watches the sunset. Loses its edges and turns into this _smile_ , soft and wondrous and full of awe when he glances at Ryan, and Ryan?

Ryan clears his throat and steals Gavin's beer. Takes a drink even though he doesn't really like the flavor just to hear Gavin squawk indignantly, literally falling all over himself in his attempt to get it back because that's simple. Easier to deal with than seeing that look on Gavin's face and Ryan's own reaction to it.

========

Ryan's price goes up once word gets around that he was the one behind the job Mueller hired him for. That he was also behind what happened to Mueller and his crew, because they were a problem in the making for the rest of Los Santos. One no one else had quite figured out how to deal with just yet, and Ryan had neatly taken care of.

Ryan's price goes up, and Gavin gets a cut of it when he starts shadowing Ryan on jobs. 

Officially, because Ryan has the sneaking suspicion the incident with Mueller wasn't the first time Gavin had followed him after he moved into Ryan's apartment. 

That maybe Gavin hadn't given up his stalkerish habits, and that should probably be a bit worrying, but Ryan's not a complete idiot.

He likes having someone watching his back out there. Eyes up high and no one the wiser because everyone in Los Santos knows the Vagabond always works alone. That he's a lone wolf in a city full of scavengers.

Gavin laughs at him when that little rumor makes it way to them. Something Gavin heard in a bar somewhere and had rushed back to tell Ryan about. Barely able to get the words out he was laughing so hard, tears of mirth leaking from his eyes.

A bit...melodramatic, but it works to their advantage because it's not like the people who think they can double-cross the Vagabond are going to be analyzing the bodies when the dust clears. Won't be able to tell who died from a sniper round and who died from a semi-automatic round. 

Not like anyone who'd double-cross the Vagabond would live to tell the tale, get word out that he has a partner with a good eye and steady hands.

========

Ryan builds up a reputation for himself, and Gavin makes sure no one gets the drop on the Vagabond. Silent shadow no one ever sees coming.

Ryan teaches him how to use a knife _properly_ , not whatever he learned from movies or watching the idiots running around Los Santos. 

There's a brief moment of regret for Ryan when Gavin finds out Ryan doesn't carry throwing knives around just for show. When he starts hounding Ryan to teach him how to throw knives until Ryan gives in and shows him that too. 

Gavin finishes the computer he's been working on and goes on to prove that not only is he a highly skilled sniper, he's not half-bad at hacking. A man of many talents indeed, aces up his sleeve and cheeky little grin to boot.

“Now if only you'd learn how to pickpocket someone without getting caught,” Ryan says idly, watching Gavin at work.

Gavin snorts, muttering something about Ryan being an anomaly. Insisting that he's a perfectly fine pickpocket, thank you very much, and Ryan leans closer. Quietly points out a better, easier way for Gavin to get what he wants, how to slip past systems, leave little surprises if anyone ever tries to trace things back to him.

“Ryan,” Gavin says, delighted smile on his face. “You've been holding out on me.”

Ryan smirks and and takes a dainty little sip of his Diet Coke, pinky out.

Gavin's not the only one with aces up his sleeve, after all.

========

Things go on like that until they don't. 

Until one day Gavin gets this tight, pinched look to his face. Dark circles under his eyes and he's clearly tired, worried about something.

“Gavin?”

Gavin shakes his head and looks away, eyes on the computer he built, a battered little laptop given a second chance in his hands.

“It's nothing, just not sleeping well,” Gavin says, completely unconvincingly, but Ryan lets it slide.

Isn't surprised at all when he comes home from running errands and finds a note taped to the lid of Gavin's laptop.

No explanation to it, just, _I'll be back._

Ryan goes through the laptop and finds projects Gavin was working on or planning to work on. A series of e-mails that lead back to England, and Gavin must have anticipated this. Expected Ryan to go digging into matters because he can't find anything past that no matter what he tries.

Realizes that Gavin's either gotten better at hacking than Ryan has, or he was holding back before. 

Both are equally possible, and Ryan feels tired as he stares at the note Gavin left behind for him in his too-quiet apartment.

“Goddammit, Gavin,” Ryan sighs, and shuts the laptop down hoping Gavin will come back for it one day.

========

Months go by with no word from Gavin. 

No word, not even the slightest sign of him and eventually Ryan stops looking. Stops trying to pick up the trail Gavin's gone to great lengths to hide and realizes there's no point to it anymore.

He packs Gavin's things into boxes and leaves them in a corner of the room he took over. Sets the laptop down on them and gets on with his life.

Goes back to being the lone wolf everyone expects him to be, but this time around he does it so very badly. 

Gets stupid about it and forgets there's no sniper watching his back on jobs anymore. No one to take care of idiots trying to get the jump on him while he's handling other matters. People who think they can make a name for themselves if they're the ones to kill the infamous Vagabond.

He gets stupid about it, and manages to earn new scars in the process. Fumbles his way through painful, bloody lessons he thought he'd learned years ago and somehow forgotten with Gavin working with him.

It makes him mean, for a little while there. More ruthless than he's ever been, mercy a hard-won thing for anyone crossing his path. 

Kicks his reputation up a few notches, so of course that's when Ramsey comes calling.

Strolls into Ryan's life with the bones of a crew he wants to build up into something greater than its whole, a goddamn empire ruling over Los Santos. Looks at Ryan with a crooked smile on his face and tattoos a stark contrast to that perfectly tailored suit and bow-tie he's known for.

“So,” Ramsey says, bouncing on his heels a little. “One job to start with, see how things work out and we go from there. What do you say?”

Power shifts in Los Santos as easy as anything, and Ryan can tell when it's happening. Sees the way the crews and gangs and the scavengers and stragglers react, respond when someone worth noting makes a play for the city. 

Ryan laughs, smirking under his mask when Ramsey startles at it. This man with a grand vision for Los Santos and his crew at the heart of it all. Someone who's reaching for a crown that's killed anyone who dared set their sights on it, an impossible prize.

And then Ramsey smiles. Something very much like a challenge, a dare in it as he cocks his head.

“One job,” Ryan says, because he's _curious_.

Ryan knows he could say no. That's he finally reached a place where he could walk away from this, from Ramsey and his people and not have to fear the consequences of his decision, but - 

He's curious as to why one of the Roosters would want to come to Los Santos. Venture into a city like this and piece together a crew with people from around the country and start over. Wants to see where the man's headed, if it's somewhere worthwhile.

========

One job turns to two, to three, and on and on until Ryan stops counting. 

Figures there's no point to it when he stops calling the others by their last names in his head. When Geoff sets aside a room at the penthouse for him that Ryan ends up using more often than not. 

Thinks it's a far better choice than letting his work follow him home to that apartment building with families, _kids_ , who might get caught in the crossfire as Ryan's reputation grows. Before people realize the Vagabond joining one of the largest crews in Los Santos is going to be the kind of problem they should put an end to sooner rather than later.

Ryan stops trying to pretend he doesn't like the members of the crew, a vain attempt to distance himself from them. 

Because he does like them, likes Geoff with that devil may care attitude of his and sharp eyes. Jack, calm and steady with a kindness to him that most people tend to mistake for weakness to their own regret. Michael and his brutal honesty and steadfast loyalty. Ray quiet and sharp-eyed and far deadlier than anyone would ever expect him to be, with or without his sniper rifle. 

It takes time, though. 

A few months, a year, and Ryan learns to to trust them, that they won't turn around and betray him for anything. A little bit longer, and he learns the reverse has been true for a while now. (Learns that even though it's not Gavin up high watching his back, Ray's proven himself to be every bit as good, if not better.)

Not long after that and Michael's helping Ryan haul boxes out to one of Geoff's trucks. Grumbling over the ones with books in them, blatantly curious about the weapon cases. 

“What the fuck is this?”

Ryan looks back, sees Michael nudging one of Gavin's boxes with his foot. Frowning at the stupid British flag sticker Ryan had stuck on it in lieu of writing anything descriptive. All of the boxes with Gavin's things have similar stickers, thanks to a stupid impulse Ryan had given in to one night.

“Geoff said there was storage at the penthouse, right?” Ryan asks, feeling a twinge of regret, but it's been years and there hasn't been a goddamn word from Gavin in all that time. “It'll go there.”

Michael's eyes narrow slightly, picking up on something in Ryan's voice, but he's smart. Doesn't ask questions as he picks the box up and follows Ryan out of the apartment.

========

If the Fakes were to have a motto, it would hands down have to be something along the line of _Shit Goes Wrong_. Ryan's never seen a group of people with such shit luck before in his life.

He's gotten plenty of demonstrations in the past few years, doesn't need a reminder like _this_. Doesn't need to see Michael down with a bullet in his thigh and Jack putting pressure on it keep him from bleeding out, and acting like there isn't a bullet in his own shoulder while he's at it. Geoff watching the alley to make sure no one sneaks up on them and listing slightly to the side, suit jacket stained red from what he claims is a graze.

Ryan's the best one off out of all them, for what it's worth.

He'd taken a fall earlier and has what feels like at least one broken rib, but he's not actively bleeding, so that's a bonus. (Ryan's choosing to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind muttering about the possibility of internal bleeding because that's just not helpful at the moment.)

“Jesus Christ,” Geoff mutters, ducking back as one of the assholes trying to kill them takes another potshot at him hoping it will will drive him out of cover. “Why did Ray have to pick now to take a job for Burnie?”

Jack sighs like this is just another conversational topic over they've been over before time and again. Like his hands aren't covered in Michael's blood, and honestly, Ryan thinks he ought to be used to the way none of them are as concerned with their current situation as they should be.

“Geoff - “

“No, I know, I know,” Geoff says, waving the hand not holding his gun in a dismissive gesture. “I told him we had things covered here, but clearly I was lying my little ass off.”

There shouldn't have been a problem with Ray heading off to help Burnie and the Roosters, there really shouldn't have been.

The Roosters had needed a sniper with Ray's skills for a series of...negotiations they were engaged in. Needed him to help refresh some peoples' memories, remind them just why the Roosters managed to stay at the top for as long as they have, and things had been quiet in Los Santos recently.

There had been no reason to think things would turn ugly, nasty, once Ray left town. That a rival crew would make their move and take their best shot at bringing the Fakes down. Lure them into an ambush under guise of reaching a truce, and honestly _yes_. In hindsight at least one of them should have seen this coming.

“Geoff!”

Michael's shout comes too late, Geoff stumbling back as someone gets a hit on him and he falls clutching at his arm.

Ryan runs to him, heedless of the danger as drags him back. Sees the gun aimed at him and no way to defend himself with Geoff in his arms - 

The flat crack of a rifle rings out, and the thug aiming at Ryan goes down with a bullet between his eyes. 

Ryan doesn't question the timing, the luck. Assumes someone from B Team's made their way to them sooner than expected as he sets Geoff next to the others. Ignores Geoff's order to stay the fuck down, _Christ, Ryan_ as he turns to deal with the rival crew members pinning them down.

Ryan grins as he sees the sniper pick off another asshole, and lets the Vagabond out to play because this is what Geoff hired him to do. Keep the crew safe by taking care of threats like this, petty little thugs thinking they're bigger than they really are.

The sniper's _good_ , provides covering fire as Ryan strides out into the open presenting a target too good to pass up.

Rats coming out of the woodwork, and Ryan doesn't hesitate. The roar of his guns drowned out by the sound of sniper fire as they work in concert to take the rival crew members down, one by one.

========

The figure that drops down into the courtyard when the dust clears is wearing a hoodie with a scarf wrapped around their face. 

Slim build, sniper rifle slung over their back and an easy confidence in the way they move. Shoulders back, chin up as they regard Ryan.

Something so oddly, painfully familiar about all of it that has Ryan staring. Eyes darting to the sniper rifle, taking in all the scuffs and faints nicks he knows better than anything.

“Is that my sniper rifle?” Ryan asks, somehow still incredulous even after all this time.

There's a long, long moment of silence, and then the sniper laughs. The sound of it all too familiar as they pull the scarf away from their face to reveal an equally familiar grin.

“Well you weren't using it at the moment, now were you?” Gavin asks, smug and just a bit _too_ pleased with himself.

Gavin's smile cracks, worry showing through when Ryan fails to say anything. Eyes moving to take in Geoff as he walks up to them.

“Didn't have a lot of choice, now did I,” Gavin says, quieter, when he looks back at Ryan. “I finally make my way back to Los Santos and the first thing I hear is that you've managed to get yourself into trouble. Not a lot of time to get my things out of storage or whatever you've done with them.”

Ryan cannot fucking believe the gall of him. Showing up out of the blue after years of radio silence and acting like nothing's changed. Like they're the same people they were back then, younger and so damn stupid and doing their best to claw out a place for themselves in this fucking city. 

Gavin's just looking at him, crooked little smile on his face and something vulnerable in his eyes like he knows exactly what Ryan's thinking. 

“Ah, yeah. Things. Got a little complicated,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. “I can explain?”

Ryan sighs, turning to Geoff who no doubt wants answers – ones Ryan doesn't have to give him – and stops.

Because Geoff looks like he wants answers, sure, but he also looks a little like he wants to wring Gavin's scrawny neck.

Which, completely understandable, really. 

“ _Gavin_?”

Gavin deftly avoids Ryan's eyes as he smiles sheepishly at Geoff. “Hey, Geoff.”

========

Things get a bit hectic once the core members of B Team arrive. Lindsay and Trevor take in the scene, and take charge of things with startling efficiency.

Lindsay stays behind to oversee the clean-up and Trevor cheerfully shuffles them off to the penthouse. Happily prattles on about everything that's gone on since the ambush started during the ride. Mentions that B Team is currently focused on rooting out anyone who had a hand in today's incident and dealing with them accordingly.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Michael demands, leaning heavily on Jack and annoyed as hell about it, being unable to contribute.

Trevor bares his teeth in a smile, voice sounding oh so pleasant but for the core of steel in it. “Exactly what you think, Michael. Exactly what you think.”

========

Trevor's ruthlessness knows no bounds it would seem as he enlists the help of members of B Team not assigned a task in making sure Geoff and the others don't leave the medical level without the all clear. Hands out fucking cattle prods as he maintains eye contact with Geoff and the others, heavily implying that a good shocking with a cattle prod never hurt anyone.

“You're fucking fired,” Geoff says, swaying on his feet and looking like an extra from a disaster movie. “You hear me Trevor? Fucking fired!”

And Trevor, terrifying bastard that he is, just smiles and looks at the cattle prod he's holding. Asks, with a manic look in his eyes, “I wonder how much juice this thing could put out if I just...tweaked it a little?”

Geoff shuts the hell up because he knows full well Trevor may not have the know-how at the moment, but he's definitely smart enough to figure it out.

========

“You never told me you knew Geoff,” Ryan says, doing his best to ignore the outraged yelling inside the penthouse.

Michael, by the sound of it, although Geoff's voice is pretty unmistakable, and Ryan knows they're conferencing Burnie.

Gavin shrugs, moving up to stand next to Ryan.

There's something cautious, hesitant about him that wasn't there after his grand reveal. Didn't really show up until they made it back to the penthouse and somehow survived Trevor and his temporary dictatorship.

“I didn't at the time?” Gavin says, managing turn it into a question. Sighs, and rubs his eyes like trying to untangle things for Ryan is giving him a headache. “I had to leave because Dan – that friend I told you about? He was in trouble.”

Ryan lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and looks down at Gavin. Tired, _exhausted_ , really. Looking like it's been too long since he's gotten a good night's sleep.

“I would have helped,” Ryan says.

“I know,” Gavin says, a smile on his face, small, hesitant, as he looks up at Ryan. “But you were making a name for yourself here, and I didn't know how long it would have taken to handle things in England.”

And that - 

It wouldn't have mattered. None of it would have mattered if Gavin had just asked Ryan for help. He would have gone with him, left Los Santos behind and helped him out, watched his the back the way Gavin had done for him so many times before.

Watching Gavin, Ryan isn't so sure he knows that even though he claims to. 

“I ran into the Roosters when I was helping Dan out,” Gavin continues. “We ended up working for Burnie for a bit, and Geoff happened to be around for part of it.”

Gavin doesn't offer any other details than that, and for once Ryan is tempted to push. Wants to ask what kind of trouble Dan got into that had Gavin wearing himself down before he'd left, kept him away from Los Santos for years. Gotten him mixed up with the _Roosters_ , for God's sake.

Ryan looks at Gavin. All casual and nonchalant about that, about everything. Like just anyone can talk about Burnie or Geoff with that same level of fondness, and swallows down the questions crowding his tongue because Gavin _came back_.

He could have made a life for himself in England with Dan, or settled in with the Roosters from the he way he talks about Burnie. He could have, but he came back to Los Santos. To a crime-ridden cesspool of a city that's already done it's best to kill him at least a dozen times over by now, and no doubt will do its damnedest now that he's back.

Not really a place to look at and think it'd be a great place to call home, all things considered, and yet here he is. Stupid smile on his face as he looks down on it from the penthouse balcony like this is exactly where he wants to be.

========

When the yelling dies down and Geoff's more or less satisfied things are back to being as normal as they ever are for the Fakes, he extends an offer to Gavin. The same one he made to Ryan, the others, in the past. 

Do a job with the Fakes, a test-run of sorts, to see if he's interested in joining them for good, if they'd be a good match.

The only difference this time, however, is the way Geoff keeps looking between Ryan and Gavin that says he already knows how things are going to work out, what Gavin's answer will be. (He's not wrong, just insufferably smug about it for ages afterward)

It's not exactly smooth going at first. 

Michael seems personally offended by Gavin's mere presence, and it's only made worse when everyone realizes Gavin is fascinated by Michael. Sets to poking and prodding him seemingly just for shits and giggles. Like some kind of twisted scientist studying a particularly intriguing new specimen, and Michael is definitely not a fan.

Ryan watches Michael doing his best to fight it, but he can see Gavin slowly starting to wear him down over time. It's amazingly entertaining to watch from the outside, to see the process in action. 

“The fuck is wrong with him?” Michael asks one day when he tracks Ryan down to the armory while he's doing inventory. “Is he stupid?”

Ryan hums, corner of his mouth twitching because _yes_. “Among other things,” he answers, laughing at the glare Michael levels at him before he storms off.

Jack doesn't know what to make of Gavin, and that's. Well, more than understandable, considering this is Gavin. But Gavin wins him over bit by bit the way he seems to do with everyone else in the crew. It's utterly baffling to everyone when none of them really know how he does it since he's an annoying little troll ninety-eight percent of the time, and yet somehow he manages it.

The other two percent - 

“Okay, no,” Ray says. “I'm calling bullshit. There's no way you could possibly make that shot. I've seen you.”

Gavin grins, holding back laughter as he pulls his - _Ryan's_ \- sniper rifle off his back and settles in to line up his shot, with the kind of confidence that has Ray eyeing him suspiciously.

Ray _has_ seen Gavin shoot before. The only problem is that Gavin had been more than a little tipsy at the time, and Michael had been egging him on. Trying to get him to pull off a trick shot that would have been nearly impossible even for Ray at his best.

So this, a “friendly little competition” between the two of them with money on the line? Clearly Gavin's idea.

Jack's off to the side taking bets from the rest of the crew, and Geoff's proclaiming himself the judge or referee or whatever the fuck, everyone shut up and let the idiot take the shot, already.

Ryan rolls his eyes and sits back to watch because the other two percent of the time Gavin's _still_ a troll, albeit one with the skills to back up that mouth of his.

He occupies an odd little space in the crew at the moment. Man of many skills and a bit of a wildcard, but he fits in surprisingly well considering the potential for disaster with the mix of personalities the crew provides.

He's not quite as good with his sniper rifle as Ray is, but no one bats an eye when Gavin volunteers when Ray's out of town or an extra pair of eyes up high wouldn't go amiss. He's ventured down into Matt's lair when a particularly difficult problem in his area of expertise has reared its head and come out of it whole and still in his right mind. A clear sign that Matt hasn't taken affront to someone intruding in his realm.

And now - 

Well, now Geoff's taken a special interest in teaching Gavin about the political intrigue and complicated little games that take place in Los Santos' criminal underground. 

As always Gavin is proving to be a quick study. 

========

“I'll need to upgrade it,” Gavin says, fussing with the laptop he built years ago as he tucks the screwdriver in his mouth, muttering around it about the parts he's going to need.

They're in the penthouse's living room, Ryan taking a quiet moment to catch up on his reading and Gavin finally unpacking the last of the boxes Ryan had put in storage here.

He'd gone quiet the first time Ryan had told him about them, tucked away in a corner a few floors down. Had followed Ryan there without a word until a startled laugh had broken free when he caught sight of the damned stickers on them.

They've been shoved in a jumbled mess in the room Geoff gave him for a few weeks now. Too busy with crew business to really sit down and go through them, but things seem to have quieted down for now.

The others have been in and out all day, seeing to personal matters or going about crew business, and it's oddly peaceful.

Ryan watches Gavin as he fumbles the tiny screws, letting out a muttered, _dammit_ as he fishes inside the laptop's casing for them.

“You bring the cops down on us, I'm leaving you to them,” Ryan says, smiling at the laugh that gets from Gavin, warm and fond.

“You say that now,” Gavin says, distracted as he frowns at his work. “But if it actually happens, I don't think you would.”

Ryan looks over at Gavin, frown between his eyes as he focuses on his latest project, and realizes Gavin's been right about that from the beginning.


End file.
